


The Angel Wreath

by horatiofrog



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Christmas, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:42:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatiofrog/pseuds/horatiofrog
Summary: Clay finds an interesting way to recapture one of Justin's childhood Christmas memories.





	The Angel Wreath

“Dude, you’re staring.”

“Am not.”

Clay looked at his brother with what he hope was an appropriate _don’t-bullshit-me_ look on his face.  “It’s a Christmas tree, for fuck’s sake, not the Second Coming of Christ.”

The pair had just finished spending a weekend with their father decorating the house for Christmas.  The twinkle lights had gone up on the roof (Clay was _seriously_ glad Justin took _that_ job), the knickknacks were placed strategically throughout the house, and the Christmas tree had gone up.  Justin took a sort of perverted pleasure at pulling out all the handmade ornaments that Clay had “donated” to the tree over his academic career.  _“A turkey, Jensen?”_ he’d asked as the older boy pulled out a pinecone-and-pipe-cleaner creation.  _“Seriously?”_

Clay loved that turkey.  It was one of the few he’d gotten to make that didn’t have either A) his picture on it or B) his name and/or birthdate scrawled on it.  Plus, truth be told, the little thing was pretty damn cute, even if he did say so himself.

“I know, Clay.  Jesus.”  Justin shook his head, as though to break his eyes’ death grip on the sparkling plastic evergreen sitting in the living room.  “It’s kinda cool, having a tree.”

“Um…” Clay began, trying to put his next sentence as tactfully as he could.  “Didn’t you have a tree with your mom?”

Justin shook his head.  “Nah.”  The smile across his pointed jaw faded a little.  “Couldn’t afford one.”

_Couldn’t afford one, or she just couldn’t be fucking bothered?_  the older boy wondered darkly.  “So…I mean, like, did you get presents?  ‘Cause I know Mom’s been on a mission this year…”

“Yeah.  I got presents.”  Justin didn’t elaborate, and Clay wisely chose not to ask.  “Mom had this wreath, though…”

“A wreath?”

Justin nodded.  “It had this little wooden angel thing in it.  Y’know, where the head is a wood ball and the body is some misshapen cone with wings on it?”

Clay nodded.  “So…?”

“Mom would put that up, and it was kinda like our tree.  When she remembered it was Christmas.”

_How the fuck can you not know when Christmas is?_ Clay thought.  _I mean, it’s not like its completely over commercialized or anything, for fuck’s sake!_

“…I really kinda liked that stupid thing,” Justin continued, having paid no mind to Clay’s wandering attention.  “I miss that.”  He sighed. 

“Well, what happened to it?”

Justin sank down further into the couch the boys had overtaken.  “Mom’s fourth ex-husband, Antoine.”

“Okay…”

“It got broken.  That’s all.”

Clay knew there was more to that story, but didn’t push.  It was hard to determine which of Justin’s childhood recollection stories were okay to demand some elaboration on and which ones to stay away from.  He knew if he guessed wrong and pushed where he shouldn’t, Justin would clam up tighter than Fort Knox and get sulky and petulant for a week.   Clay did _not_ need that in his life right now.  “That sucks,” he said finally.  As an afterthought, he added, “That guy sounds like a prick.”

Justin smiled a little.  “He was.  Not the worst of them, though.”

There was no way to make heads or tails of that.

 

* * *

 

 

A week later, Clay sat at the dining room table, sketchbook in hand.  He was studiously trying to come up with a design that would meet all of the requirements he needed, and was falling short.  He thought fleetingly of Skye, now living with her aunt out of state.  He hoped she was enjoying her first snow.  She had talked a little about wanting a white Christmas just once in her life. 

“What you up to, son?” he heard as a chair pulled out next to him. 

Clay looked up at his dad, pulling the sketchbook closer to him.  “Just doodling,” he said.

“Can I see?”

“Not yet.”  He sighed.  “Did you know Justin never had a Christmas tree?  I mean, as a kid?”

A long breath exhaled out of Matt Jensen.  “Yeah.  I heard you guys talking the other day.”

“I mean, who doesn’t get their kid a Christmas tree, Dad?  Seriously?”  Clay spoke freely, knowing that Justin was out doing some Christmas shopping with his mother.  Lainie Jensen was pulling out all the stops this year to make Justin’s first Christmas with his new family as memorable as possible.

“Trees are expensive, Clay.  Even if you cut one yourself, and that takes work.”  Matt’s smile faded a little.  “And I get the feeling that such things weren’t exactly a priority for his mom, really.”

_Well, no shit,_ Clay thought.  At least his father was a little more tactful about how he worded the sentiment.  The teenager knew there would be some decent cuss words, at least, if he’d been asked to voice the same conclusion. 

“It sounded to me, though, like he had a replacement, of sorts?”

“Yeah.  A wreath.  With an angel.”  Clay’s face scrunched in thought.  Then he lowered his sketchbook.  “I was trying to come up with a design like the one he told me about,” he explained as his father studied the work.  “I thought, maybe if he had one here, he might like that.”

“Like your turkey ornament?” A small smile started on Matt’s face.

“Don’t _you_ start.  First Mom, then Justin.  Jesus.”

“It _is_ pretty cute.”

“Exactly.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clay marveled at the distance he had to put between what most students at Liberty High called “regular school” and the arts annex.  While not exactly an ‘annex,’ it was located a considerable distance from the main classrooms and felt like a foreign country to those who didn’t take art, photography, or shop classes.  He’d had a class or two in this part of the school, and quickly found that shop was a thing best left to professionals.

It was to the woodshop that Clay was headed.  “Micah,” he called out across the spacious shop floor, carefully bypassing stacks of lumber and antiquated-but-still-serviceable equipment.  “Hey, Micah!”

The young man in question – a tall, skinny kid that looked as though the band saw would eat him alive – looked up from his work.  “Hey, Clay!” he said, greeting him warmly.  “Ready to try the wonders of woodworking?  I remember Skye saying you had a thing for paint, and well…”

“Yeah, it’s probably better I stick to paint,” Clay replied, grinning.  “Listen, you got a minute?”

“Sure.  Not like anyone’s gonna care if I take a break.”  The shop floor was deserted.  Like most of the serious art students, most progress was done after school hours.  It had taken Clay a good fifteen minutes to walk from the east hall to the arts annex after last bell.  Sometimes life sucked.

“Cool.  Listen, I, um…I have a project for you, if you want it.  And I’m willing to pay.”

“Intriguing.  Lemme see.”  Micah took the sketches from Clay and began to study them.  “Dude, this is simple.  It’s like, _ridiculously_ simple.  I could add a little flair to it, still cost you nothin’.”

“Depends on the flair.  This isn’t for me.”

“Little evergreen, ribbon, touch of paint right here?”

Clay looked at his sketch.  He imagined the modifications.  “Yeah.  Yeah, that’d be great.  Seriously, though, what would something like that cost?”

“Nothing, dude.  We have all of the stuff here, and it’d make a good short project for me.  Got told just the other day I had to focus on a smaller project, something _not_ for the art fair in March.  Bastards.” 

Micah pointed at a low wooden coffee table.  Clay looked at the intricate design of a jungle scene, with shapes detailing various animals embedded like puzzle pieces into the dark wood frame.  “Mahogany stain,” he said, pointing at the frame.  “That wood’s expensive as shit to get for real.  Have to settle.”

“Wow.  I mean, wow.  This is incredible.  How long does something like this take?

“Been working on it like, six months.  Started after art fair last year.  I can sell it for, like, $2000 if I want.”

Clay let out a little whistle.  “I’m in the wrong business.”

Micah laughed.  Then he grew serious.  “No.  We need someone to look out for people, too.  When do you need this by?”

“Um…before Christmas break?  A week, tops?”

The lanky kid nodded.  “Can do.  Meet me here next Thursday, same time.  I promise, whoever this is for is gonna love it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“The fuck is that?”

Clay struggled with the bulky package, finally wrestling it into the back of the Prius he and Justin now shared.  “Nothing.”

“I might be a dipshit some days, Jensen, but I’m not blind.  Or stupid.” 

“Just fucking drive.”  Clay threw his seatbelt over himself with a renewed vigor.  “We said we’d pick up more fish for dinner.”

Justin’s eyes lit up.  “With that fucking amazing sauce your dad makes?”

“Yes.  Fish with amazing sauce.  We need some rice too.”

“The cheese kind?”

“Oh my fucking God, yes, cheese rice!” Clay said in exasperation.  Secretly, he was excited.  He couldn't wait to get home to give Justin his gift.  “Not like the sauce doesn’t go well with plain rice or anything.”

“Man, cheese is, like, a food group.”

“Is not.”

Justin pouted.  “Well, it should be.”  He glanced into the backseat through the rearview mirror.  “Last minute present or something?”

Clay smirked.  “Something like that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After dinner, Clay took Justin into the living room.  “Okay, what was so important that we had to wait on dessert?” the younger boy grumbled.

“That.”  The Jensens first child pointed at a wooden wreath adorned with realistic-looking fake evergreen boughs.  There were several clusters of white berries and a wide white crepe ribbon that adorned it.  Sitting squarely in the middle of the decoration was an angel.  Its head was a wooden ball with a little gold-painted wooden halo that sat atop.  The body was a white cone shape with wings that looked more fairy-like than cherubic.  The wooden ball was painted a pale peach, and there was a little detail work on the cone to resemble small decorations of an angel dress.  Clay had hung it while Justin helped with dinner, claiming he needed to take care of something important to get out of making the salad.  “I wanted you to have your angel wreath again,” he said simply, chewing on his lip a little.  “Do you…do you like it?”

He turned to face his brother.  Justin looked for all the world as if he was about to cry.  “Oh, shit,” Clay cussed softly.  “Look, I didn’t mean to…”

A watery smile broke across Justin’s face.  “It’s perfect,” he said, the words broken and choppy.  It amazed Clay how the kid managed to survive years of neglect and abuse, as well as five months of street living, being as emotional as he was.  Just the other day Justin started to mist up at the ancient Folgers coffee commercial with the little girl and her brother making coffee.  Clay swore the kid had never seen an old, sappy commercial before.  “It’s like the one my mom had.”

“Yeah, well, this one should last a while.  I’m told wood doesn’t break that easily.”

More tears fell down Justin’s face.  “Thanks, Clay.”

“Anytime.”  He smiled.  “Just don’t make fun of my turkey anymore.”

“Oh, that turkey is gonna be _legend,_ Jensen,” Justin said.  “Just wait ‘til the Christmas party.”


End file.
